Monday after Monday, Wednesday after Wednesday, we went from office to office, inquiring solicitously about each man’s health. Was he quite well? Did he have a headache or any symptoms of internal disorders? Was his wife in good health? His children? Could any business affairs arise to take him out of town next day?...
The weeks went by and we were not able to get our majority, together.
“You think you’re going to bring that question up again,” said Mr. Webb, the chairman. “No power on earth will do it. It’s locked up in sub-committee till next December, and it’s going to stay there.”
This was repeated to Miss Paul. “Nonsense!” she said. “Of course it will be brought up.”
But why should all this petty bickering, this endless struggling with absurdities be necessary in order to get before Congress a measure dealing with a question of public good? No man would run his private business that way. Yet that is the way public business is done.
Finally after weeks of working and watchful waiting I reported to Anne on Wednesday that a majority of our members were in town and well. We were jubilant. Early next morning we were before the doors of the Judiciary Committee to see them file in. They arrived one by one, solemn, nervously hurrying by, or smiling in an amused or friendly way. Mr. Hunter Moss, our staunch friend, appeared. Mr. Moss was dying of cancer. Though often too ill to leave his bed, he asked his secretary to notify him whenever Suffrage was to come up so that he might fight for it. Mr. Moss was our tenth man. We recounted them anxiously. Ten supporters, ten opponents—where was Mr. Dale of New York? I flew downstairs to his office—I don’t know who went with me but I have a faint memory of red hair—and there he was in his shirt sleeves calmly looking over his mail.
“Hurry!” we cried. “The committee is ready to meet. Every one’s there except you!”
He reached for his coat but we exclaimed, “Put it on in the hall!” and hurrying him out between us we raced down the corridor, helping him with the coat as we ran, then into the elevator and up to the third floor and to the committee room. We deposited him in one vacant seat. Our majority was complete!
As we stood off and looked at our eleven men sitting there together, gathered with so much effort and trial, no artist was ever prouder of a masterpiece than we. We stood entranced surveying them until Mr. Webb sternly announced that the committee would go into executive session which meant that we must go.
In the anteroom other Suffragists gathered, also the newspaper men. Every one said that in a few moments the Amendment would be reported out. But the minutes ran into hours. Our suspense grew. Each time those closed doors opened and a member came out we asked for news. There was none. “Carlin’s got the floor.”